When Cybertron Stood Still
by renegadewriter8
Summary: "These bots had provided a small reserve for the deprived sparks. When they started diminishing, the hunt began." DARK FIC!


I saw The Road a few months ago. An awful movie. The only thing I liked about it, and which really made me scared, was how realistic it was in terms of what humans will do in order to survive. This twisted drabble came to mind.

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They hadn't been running long. The joor Cybertron died, the joor goodness and righteousness left the spark of bots; the joor they were all left to survive on their own, not from a plague, not from a natural catastrophe, not even by war, where one could find refuge under one or the other faction. They ran from what was left of Cybertron, from the cold and sparkless bots that went crazy vorns after the last reserve of energon had dried out. Hunger was their enemy, death… their ally.

None had seen it coming. Not the scientists, not the priests, and not even their Prime. One joor Cybertron just… stopped. Their planet had been grand, full of life and resources, full of lights and songs, of security and hope. Then… nothing. All went dark. None could fix it, none knew how. After the first wave of panic, realization hit full force. Their planet was rejecting them, their god forsaking them. And the raids started. Civility seemed to never have existed. Those that tried to fix this, tried to reason with the crowds were the first to go. Then came the weak, the ones that hadn't run fast enough, the ones that had naively thought a solution would save them, the ones that had been abandoned, hadn't found a place to hide. Hospitals and clinics became slaughter houses, youth sectors were a sight straight from the pit. None stood today, none held life, none were safe.

These bots had provided a small reserve for the deprived sparks. When they started diminishing, the hunt began.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Frag!"

The visored mech turned hurriedly to see his companion fall on one knee, intakes working overtime as they struggled to keep his ailing systems going.

"Prowl!" The visored mech ran down the slope he had been climbing and kneeled next to the struggling mech. "Come on mech, we're not that far away."

"It's no use Jazz," He panted, "…my energy levels are too low. I won't make it to the next city. Use what I have left of life for yourself."

Jazz's visor flashed and he roughly grabbed Prowl by his shoulders, their faceplate inches apart. Retracting his visor, he let the other see the depth of his glare.

"Don't ya _ever_ say something like that again! Ah will _never_ use another bot's spark just ta survive! Especially not yours!" He raged, dropping the doorwinged mech to the floor and looking away.

"Don't be a fool Jazz, we can't both make it. We've survived thus far, but how long until you realize there is _nothing _left. Whether by hunters' servos or starvation, we won't see the next vorn."

Jazz didn't meet his optics, fists and denta clenching. He knew that. Frag it all to the pits! But he couldn't, _wouldn't _accept that this was the end. Not like this, there had to be an energon source somewhere on the planet. Primus couldn't have left them, couldn't have taken everything from them just like that. There had to be an explanation!

"I'm tired Jazz." Prowl said, voice portraying his mental and physical exhaustion. He slumped to the ground, doorwings flat on his back, optics too dim to be healthy, frame covered in injuries, dirt, and ash. The last city they had been in had been a war zone, mechs and femmes ripping sparks from other's frames and eating them, in a deranged attempt to survive. They had to run from the wild bots, and along the way, a fire had started and swallowed the city, giving the yet sane mechs the chance to escape.

"I've had enough, and I've accepted our fate."

"And what is our fate Prowl! Huh!" Jazz yelled turning to face him, outraged that the clam, and logical Prowl was talking like this. He only needed a few cubes of energon in him and he'd be torn out of this state he was in.

Tiredly, back against a piece of debris, Prowl locked his optics with the visored mech. "To die here."

Jazz kneed in despair, falling next to the winged mech. "No. Ah can't accept this!" He screamed, fists meeting the ground. "Ah can't!"

As arms surrounded him, he noticed he had started crying. He frame trembling in anguish. "Oh Jazz, I know it's painful. We had such dreams for the future, such hope." He paused, letting Jazz return his embrace with more strength than he had. "We knew when we survived the first wave of attacks, that nothing would ever be the same. I accepted that Jazz. Have you?"

No he hadn't. And he still didn't want to. He was stubborn, he knew. It was something that drove Prowl mad. But it was the way he was. He realized that it had been that stubbornness that had kept Prowl with him this long. The winged mech had lost all fight in him when he had witnessed friends destroy and eat their mate's sparks, or that of their younglings. He had lost the will to go on early, but it was Jazz's stubbornness that had kept him going.

Pushing back, Prowl got out a blaster from his subspace.

"It has energy for two more blasts." He whispered, staring at the blaster almost lovingly.

"Prowl?" How he hated how weak his voice suddenly sounded.

"I'll trust you Jazz. I'll keep going until I fall, for you, but in exchange I want you to promise me something."

"Anything! Anything, ya name it, just, just don't give up, _please_." Jazz begged, clinging unto the small hope that he could still save Prowl.

"Should we ever find ourselves surrounded by the hunters, you _will_ shoot me."

Jazz stared horrified as Prowl, faceplates serious and determined, handed him the blaster.

"I will _not _be used as a power source! I will _not_ let anyone have my spark! I will not go through that." The winged mech hissed. "So this is my deal Jazz. Take it, or I shoot myself now."

Quickly grabbing the blaster, to keep the other from doing what he had said, the visored mech only nodded, vocalizer suddenly dead.

Sighing in relief, Prowl got up with a bit of difficulty. He looked at Jazz and then at the slope they had to climb. "Come, let's go. A part of me hopes you are right Jazz. I really do. But a larger part knows what awaits us, and I'd be lying if I said I want to avoid it."

Without a word, Jazz got up, not looking at Prowl. He subspaced the blaster and lead the way up the slope. The slow steps coming from behind him the only thing that fueled him to keep on going.

_'Primus, if your still there. Please. _Please_. Don't turn me into a murderer."_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The same night that marked the joor they met, was the same night Jazz shot Prowl clean through his spark chamber.

The mechs that had cornered them in the ruins of a building screamed in rage as a source of energy had been destroyed.

They charged, intent on ripping the visored mech apart before eating his spark. They never had the change.

Outraged, wild, and broken, Jazz turned from Prowl's graying form and charged, the scream and insane optics that were revealed when his visor had fallen trying to get away, making all of them stop, as their processors, long lost to insanity suddenly focused and they recognized something they had forgotten. Fear.

The screams of the mechs as they were torn apart could be heard throughout the ruins of the city. Survivors hiding shivered in fear, and deranged bots instinctively staying clear of the building.

Jazz killed every single bot. His servos, chassis, legs, and faceplate drenched in energon.

Standing in the middle of the room, panting, tears running down his faceplates, he turned to look at Prowl. His spark clenched at the sight of the hole in his chassis, where his beautiful spark had once been. But what almost killed him was the memory of the peaceful smile the other had given him, of the relief in his optics, and the words his lover had spoken before he had fired.

_"Thank you."_

Jazz screamed, his spark unable to take the pain any longer. Bringing the blaster to his own spark, he fired, and he knew no more.

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